Page 95 of The Musician and the Monster

“Let’s get you up. A bath will help. Maybe some breakfast.” Bronwyn tried to pull her to her feet, but Ceridwen’s body refused to move. After a minute, her sister gave up and sat on the floor next to her.

Malik neared. His feet shifted on the floor he gazed at like a scolded child. “There’s a letter too. If you want it.” He slipped a thin piece of folded parchment from within his jacket.

From the way he held it, Ceridwen could just make out the looping scrawl of one word that started with a grand C. Her name.

“Give it to me,” she demanded, not caring that she sounded and looked like a petulant child. Hair a mess. Teary eyes. Only wearing a nightdress and robe. He probably saw her as a wild woman. Yet his eyes held no judgment as he slipped the letter into her waiting hands.

“Perhaps we should take her to her room,” Jackoby intoned. Ceridwen hadn’t seen him enter, but his voice displayed no surprise. Someone must have told him.

“In a minute,” Malik replied on her behalf.

Ceridwen unfolded the letter with shaking hands.

Dearest Ceridwen,

You’ll know by now that I’ve left ahead of plan. I couldn’t risk you asking to come with me again. How could I have ever told you no?

Know that I love you. You’ve given me joy in my last days—more than a monster like me deserves.

Malik will see to your family’s well-being and that of everyone who resides within the manor.

Live a good life far away from the taint of magic and blood. Forget about me, but never lose your music. It’s a magic of its own, filled with the beauty of your soul, that only you can weave.

No matter what happens, I’m blessed beyond worth or measure to have heard your song and felt your love.

Yours always,

Drystan

Short and sharp like an arrow to the heart. She’d expected nothing less, but the brevity of his last words sent tears streaking down her face.

“You know what it says?” she asked Malik through her tears.

“I do. He told me in my letter. And I’ll uphold every word,” he promised, arms crossed across his chest.

“What’s going on?” Bronwyn asked, looking between the two of them.

Ceridwen sniffed away the tears, rubbed her eyes, and stood. Bronwyn kept a hand on her the whole time, probably worried she might sink to the ground in a heap or puddle. “I’m going to the capital.”

Malik’s eyes widened. Bronwyn’s hand tightened on hers.

Jackoby was the first to speak. “Miss Ceridwen, you should stay here for now. We’ll look after you and your family if you’d like.”

Forcing a smile took effort. “That is very kind,” Ceridwen replied, “but Drystan has already set up provision for them and everyone here.”

She looked to Malik, who nodded, the surprise gone from his face. He reached into his front jacket pocket and pulled forth an elaborate silver key. “The key to the vault. Allocations have been set aside for Ceridwen’s family as well as all the manor staff. You may stay for a few days to get organized and then start anew somewhere else with the blessing of Tristram Ithael.”

Bronwyn squeaked, hands flying to her mouth.

“And should anyone question it”—Malik slid a large, ornate ring from one finger—“show them my seal.”

Jackoby approached and took the items Malik offered. “Highness,” he said with a courtly bow.

“Holy Goddess,” Bronwyn blurted. “You’re the dark prince.”

Not quite.Apparently, Malik and Jackoby were ready to let Bronwyn in on the secrets they held, though she might not be ready to hear them. Of course, if Drystan succeeded, then perhaps he could reclaim his old name and title. If he failed… She couldn’t consider that. She wouldn’t let the king and his dark magic steal another person she loved.

“Only half right,” Malik replied, striding toward Bronwyn with an amused smirk on his face. He took her hand, though she tried to pull away, and bowed before her. “Prince Alistair Ithael, at your service.”

---